


ladies and gentlemen

by PenzyRome



Category: An American in Paris - Gershwin/Lucas
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, brief mentions of past unhealthy/abusive relationships, just. copious amounts of being in love, lots and lots and lots of metaphors bc My Brand, mlm/wlw solidarity, ok uhhhh, thats all the sad stuff i think. anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 10:43:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenzyRome/pseuds/PenzyRome
Summary: Milo Davenport doesn't often hear the truth, and Henri Baurel doesn't often tell it.
Relationships: Henri Baurel & Lise Dassin, Henri Baurel/Adam Hochberg, Lise Dassin/Jerry Mulligan, Milo Davenport & Henri Baurel, Milo Davenport/Lise Dassin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 20





	ladies and gentlemen

**Author's Note:**

> hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha wow ok i dedicated too much time to this fic. its fine. if the past/present tense seems fucked up its bc... i was tired. also yes this is another "i retell aaip but its gayer" fic bc thats my brand now  
this is just a lot of my lesbian dumbass rambling about lise dassin

Milo Davenport has never made anyone actually, genuinely love her.

She learned very quickly that her parents were far more enticed by fortune than they were by her, so she adapted based on that. Charm something until it’s interested, throw gifts at it until it’s willing to stick around. It works with dogs, it works with men, it works with friends.

It doesn’t work with Lise Dassin.

That’s the most frustrating thing, off the bat. The choreographer introduces her to Lise, just as charmed by Milo as he should be, but Lise hardly even blinks.

“Mademoiselle Milo Davenport,” he says. “She is responsible for your placement.”

It’s not a subtle hint at all, and Milo wants to cringe at it, but she keeps up her perfectly balanced smile, the one she practiced in the mirror at age eight.

Lise nods at her, a respectful little dip of her head. “Mademoiselle,” she greets, and she smiles slightly before she turns to walk back to where the pianist is sitting, scrawling on a piece of sheet music. He looks up at her and fumbles with his notebook, and Lise stretches next to him as they make awkward conversation.

Call her vain, but Milo doesn’t know why Lise would choose that over her.

The choreographer fumbles to make up for it. "I am so sorry, Mademoiselle Davenport, she is--"

"It's fine," Milo says, waving one hand. "Truly."

The pianist, it turns out, is perfectly lovely company when he isn’t terrified of someone. His name is Adam, and he and Milo have plenty of talks about art, and money, and fashion. The chats about fashion are always the most fun, really. They both feel the most violently about it.

“It’s just so  _ stupid,” _ Adam says. “Like, good for you, you can pick out of a fuckin’ catalogue.”

“It’s more than that, it’s about the way you present yourself. The part of yourself you would like to show the world!”

“And what if I don’t wanna show them jackshit!”

“Then you’re failing!” she says. Adam scoffs, and she points at him. “No, no, you dress like a drunk beggar, and then expect people to take you seriously as an artist!”

“You and Henri would get on swell,” he mutters into his drink. “The money, the sticks up your asses…”

“He sounds lovely,” she says, sticking her nose up a little just to spite him. Then, after a moment, “Who is he?”

“Lise’s boy, so don’t even try.”

“Lise?”

“Yeah, they’re sort of engaged, I guess.” He takes a long drink. “Henri didn’t ask, but he swears she accepted.”

“Does she know that?”

“God, I don’t fuckin’ know. She grovels around his family, so probably.” His lips purse.

“Oh my god, you’re in love.”

He coughs, a gulp of whiskey sticking in his throat. “What the fuck are you on?”

“With Lise? It’s so obvious, that’s why you get nervous!”

“Oh. Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m in love with Lise. You caught me.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, of course, yeah. Anyways, fashion. It’s bullshit.”

It’s off, the whole thing. Just slightly tilted, so that the axis is pointed a little wrong.

But Milo doesn’t press, because she has her own share of things that are off.

Jerry falls for the whole process like a puppy chasing after a bone. It’s ridiculous, and kind of sad. All she has to do is throw a couple of promises at him, and he’s putty in her hands. She doesn’t want anything out of it, not at first. She really just does want someone who’s nice to her. She’s well aware of her imperfections, every last one, and it’s getting a little tiring to be around the rest of the world.

Jerry doesn’t get torn down like she does. No one like him does. He’s got his boyish charm on his side, and the being a man in the first place. He is an  _ artist,  _ so he benefits society.

Adam gets it more than Jerry ever does. They’re not the same, but there’s a similarity there, the lifetime of being sneered at and the desire for some kind of genuine care.

Adam gets everything handed to him out of guilt and pity, and he says it’s fine. He says it gives him time to focus on art and his ballet. Milo knows better than that. She hands everything to everyone in exchange for a scrap of attention, and if he feels anything like her, she’s surprised he wakes up in the morning.

Her mama went after alcohol like Adam does, but a little more viciously. Adam gets numb when he drinks; he just wants some kind of reprieve from the feeling that the world’s crumbling and he’s the only one who sees. Her mama gnashed her teeth when they didn’t have bourbon in the cupboard, slapped Milo across the face after a few drinks. She screamed at butlers to get her a bottle of wine, and she’d pay any kind of price for it.

If attention’s alcohol, then Milo’s her mama.

She wakes up in order to drag a smile out of folks, get a quick thanks in the street, have men lick their lips at her.

Most men scare her, but Adam doesn’t. Jerry doesn’t, usually, except when Milo thinks about the day that she’s going to move on and he stops getting what he’s near her for in the first place.

It’s safer to predetermine that they are impermanent, and so they do. Still, Milo worries.

She thinks Lise would understand, if they ever spoke. There’s something about her eyes, the way she guards herself, the way she shrieks when she’s lifted too high. She moves hesitantly and quickly at the same time, as if she wishes both no one and everyone would notice her.

Lise seems desperately unsure and completely real.

Milo is the opposite-- she is very sure of her realities. She can buy love, if she works hard enough at it, and if she is willing to accept that it will leave someday. She is chic, and entirely touchable. She’s long ago mastered how to be what men want, the mix of what seems like a challenge and what is actually incredibly easy. Those are her realities-- she works hard to be loved, and it doesn’t last long.

She also knows that she, unlike Lise, is entirely fake.

Lise is sculpted out of marble, utterly beautiful. One mistake to the work would have damaged the masterpiece, and yet, no matter what steps were taken, art was made. One-of-a-kind, fit for the Louvre. She is the first and last attempt at Lise Dassin, in marble, by Michaelangelo or someone along those lines, 1925.

Milo was made on a factory line; a thousand men working to sculpt out the millions of the same little doll. Charles opened up her eyes and dotted on the paint when he pushed her against the wall when she was thirteen. Joseph sculpted her hands when he took her to that bar at sixteen and unwittingly taught her about the motives of men. Robert curled her hair when she woke up alone in a cold apartment and learned how to fix her curls with her fingers so people didn’t whisper when she left. Her own father shaved edges off her wrists and her legs and her waist, insisting they should be dantier, befitting a lady.

A thousand men painted her lips, tiny red dot by tiny red dot, forming one, soft downward curve.

A pretty doll, perfected after years to be shipped across the world to provide joy for everyone.

It is handed over to appease the children of people too important to love their families, and it is played with for a while, because it was expensive, Josephine, you can’t just throw it out!

But it is forgotten, eventually. It’s a little too odd, a little too sad.

All that work, all those years, all those men, to create something that is, essentially, garbage. No one asked the doll what she would like to look like, whether she’d like to be able to smile. And there she is, rotting, pink plastic cheeks dirtying as she is surrounded by the remnants of what once belonged in others’ lives.

Anyways. Jerry is fun, and easy to be around. Not really much more than that. Milo showers him with chances to be something greater, and in turn, he goes with her to parties and makes her feel the slightest bit special.

He kisses her, too. It feels like every kiss she’s ever had with a man-- hopeful on her part, and entirely empty on theirs.

She’s not there yet, but she’ll eventually get to the point in time when she is no longer desirable. Her mama’s words bore into her mind, telling her that she’d better get a man before the wrinkles on her forehead make themselves any more visible, and it scares her, late at night. She thinks about Jerry sometimes, about being with him for the rest of her life, and it feels wrong.

She likes him plenty, think’s he’s attractive and charming and all that. He’s just not her future.

Nevertheless, she grows fond of him, and when he tells her, after the party that night, that he doesn’t love her, she feels her heart sink.

He apologizes, and she tells him that she didn’t mean to care as deeply as she does.

She still can’t even imagine a future with the two of them together, but her stomach still hurts at the idea of him marrying Lise. She sees the two of them outside, looking distraught and heartbroken like something in the movies.

She doesn’t want to watch their fucking movie anymore. She doesn’t want to be the girl who gets tossed aside, let down gently so that Jerry can kiss and woo and marry and fuck and grow old with Lise Dassin.

Lise Mulligan. She hates it, she hates that name that doesn’t even exist yet.

She feels bad for Henri and Adam. She knows full well that Henri and Lise have next to nothing romantic, but when the engagement inevitably breaks, it’ll reflect badly, and his family will hurt. And Adam, of course, is in the same boat she is, the boat that neither of them had a chance getting out of. What are they, compared to Jerry?

Or, well, Milo compared to Lise. Because she cares for Jerry, not Lise.

Long story short, she feels awful in just about every way.

After she sees their whole star-crossed lovers routine outside, Adam rushes over to her and presses a key into her hand.

“Hey, so I gotta congratulate Henri. You wake up early, right?”

“Yes?”

“Awesome, drop by my place in the morning to unlock it for the waitresses. Henri might make me stay over since it’s dark, so, thanks.”

He walks away, and she shakes her head for a moment, confused.

She dances with Henri right after that, and she realizes he is just as lovely as Adam’s reluctant affection towards him has implied.

None of them deserve to be hurt because Jerry and Lise have some love story that was apparently bigger than the rest of them.

Milo wakes up bright and early, too early for it to be bright in the first place. She doesn’t usually refuse to wait for the sun, but she’s been given a task to do, and having just the slightest bit of purpose is better than waking up just to wake up.

When she walks over, she holds the key to the cafe in her hand tightly, hearing looming words about men in the dark and remembering hands on her wrists.

She makes it there without incident, and flicks the light switch on, forgetting to be scared when she see Adam’s grand piano and the scuffed-up chairs. She takes the stairs gently in case he’s home, and turns the doorknob slowly, meaning to set his key back on whatever dresser or table he has.

Instead, she opens the door and stares at the scene that greets her.

Adam’s apartment is tiny, just a room with his bed and a table with two chairs, plus a door to a little bathroom. There’s nowhere to hide.

He stares at her from the table, looking petrified, wearing a pair of pants and an untucked, half-unbuttoned shirt. There’s a piece of music in front of him and a pencil in his hand.

There’s Adam’s suit from last night, folded haphazardly and sitting on the other chair. There’s a much finer suit draped over the chair, clearly with much more care put into its placement.

Henri’s asleep in Adam’s bed, the sheets only covering up to his waist, and it’s oh-so-clear what happened.

“Please don’t tell...” Adam begins, but his voice drifts off, because how would that sentence end? Henri’s parents? Lise? Jerry? The cops?

“Anyone,” she says for him, and then, like a coward, she turns and leaves as fast as she can.

Hand over his heart, Henri wishes he could love Lise.

The wish goes beyond any kind of debt-- simply put, she is lovely and sweet, and he thinks that if he has to marry a woman, it might as well be her. Is there any kind of passion to it? No. But she’s a woman and she doesn’t hate him. Good enough.

A lot of things in his life are good enough. His relationship with his parents? Good enough, they aren’t shipping him off to America just to get rid of him. Lise? Good enough, he likes her as a person even if not as a partner. The aftermath of the war? Good enough. No one’s found out anything they shouldn’t, and he isn’t being carted off to jail for anything.

A lot of things are good enough, except for Adam. Adam is  _ splendid. _

He tries to keep Adam squared away in his head as A Friend, the way he’s been able to do for so many men before. It should be easy, since Adam’s snarky and nihilistic and dreary, but then ever so often, Henri gets a handful of paper shoved over to him.

“Music,” Adam says shortly. 

“Thank you,” Henri says, taking the music carefully and thumbing through it, examining the time signature and tempo and key signature that he knows Adam will change as soon as Henri presses at him long enough.

“This is cheerful,” he realizes after a moment, and Adam busies himself with drying off the glasses in the sink.

“Yeah, well. Figured it’d get you off my ass for a bit.”

Henri reads through the words, feeling his mouth go dry. “Adam, this is  _ lovely.” _

“It’s garbage. Sentimental crap.”

_ Who knows if the sun will fall upon us, love,  _ the song reads,  _ but I hold the stars in my hands already and it isn’t too bad a fate. _

It’s different than all his other songs, and Henri’s tie feels too tight around his neck, the cafe feels suddenly far too small. Adam sits down next to him on the piano bench, his knee pressed against Henri’s thigh, and all Henri can think about is how hard he worked to avoid this.

He tried so desperately to  _ not  _ fall in love with Adam. To keep Adam as a friend and a creative partner, without the danger of anything else getting in the way.

But he loves him, he loves him, he loves him, and maybe he has ever since he first saw him. Maybe he’s loved him since before that, since Adam first got off the train in Paris. Maybe he’s loved him since the minute Adam first played the piano, played notes that would eventually be written for Henri. Maybe he’s loved him since he himself first sang, since he knew real passion and real triumph for the first time.

Any kind of rush he can get from performing is  _ nothing  _ compared to when Adam feels generous to spare him a smile, he realizes.

Regardless of when it started or how or why, he knows for certain, in that moment, that he loves Adam Hochberg. But when he steps outside the cafe, the reality of the world hits him. It’s a reality where, no matter how hard he tries, he and Adam will never have a fairy-tale happy ending, because he has to marry Lise and they all have to live their miserable normal lives and then eventually die.

And even if the world were entirely fair, Adam wouldn’t love him anyways, so that’s that. Henri’s world is far too fake and filled with too many forced smiles for Adam to belong there. Adam, despite being as ridiculous and depressing and crabby as he is, is entirely genuine. He doesn’t belong in the life Henri was sculpted to fit in.

He goes home and tries to pretend to be a normal son. He works on his letter for Lise that feels so thoroughly fake, and he argues with his mother, and then he freezes when she asks him where his affections truly lie.

With Adam, of course. That’s as clear as day now. 

But he doesn’t say it, because if he only just now managed to admit it to himself, there’s no way he’s telling his mother, no matter how often she asks.

“Mother…” he says, and it comes out frail and weak. He doesn’t know what else to say, he doesn’t want to have to admit to her the things that she probably already knows.

There had been a man before Adam. He’d been a baker who supplied food for the Resistance and for those who were fleeing, and Henri had met him three years before the liberation. They’d met many times after that, always in secret, always more careful than anyone should have had to be.

A year before the liberation, he had vanished, and when Henri asked around, he’d gotten the same answer every time-- no one knew for sure, but they know what that meant.

He hasn’t told anyone, not even Lise, not even Adam, but looking at his mother’s face in that moment, Henri is positive she knows.

Then Lise walks in, and Henri distracts himself with the charade.

His heart fills up when he sees her smile, finally. He does love her, and she has suffered too long to be deprived of happiness any longer, even if he can’t offer it to her. And they are able to laugh together, able to smile at each other; it makes Henri wish that he could just be her friend, without having to hand her a ring.

But she accepts his proposal, without him even having to say the words that would be so utterly poisoned if he said them to her.

She seems happier than even the ballet warrants, and he’s not an idiot. He knows full well that it’s not just the ballet. Still, he doesn’t press. She allows him to keep his secrets, so he must allow her the same privilege. If their marriage is going to succeed, as already broken as it is, they can’t damage it any further.

He goes to the cafe for rehearsal, and Adam startles to see him, but even he looks happier than normal-- which is to say, he looks happy.

“Henri!” Adam calls across the room, and Henri briefly entertains the idea of Adam slinging his arms around his neck and kissing him. He files it under things that are never going to happen, and Adam instead beckons Henri toward the papers he’s got strewn all across his piano. “I got a ballet,” he hisses, as soon as Henri’s shoulder is pressed against his.

“Why are we quiet?”

“I don’t know,” Adam laughs. He exhales slowly, shuffling through music that Henri realizes he must have written all of last night. “Shit, Henri, this is huge.”

“Of course, yes!” Henri shakes Adam’s shoulder a little. “A pause for celebration!”

“Cause,” Adam corrects, but he’s still looking joyful and disbelieving, so Henri brushes it off quickly and pulls him over to the counter so that they can get something to eat.

Obviously, he knows that it’s got to be the same ballet Lise was just hired by. But he doesn’t say anything to either of them, for his own selfish reasons. After all, he’s willing to marry Lise and move to America and risk his life for the greater good, so frankly, he’s bitter enough from all the sacrifice to want one chance to be selfish.

If that means not making the man he loves and the woman he has to love part of the same world yet, so be it. (And if Adam and Lise don’t know each other as what they are to him, then it’ll feel a little less like he’s betraying both of them.)

They spend some time working on a song Adam refuses to answer any questions about. It’s a love song-- not just a cheerful song, not just a song about love, but an honest-to-god love song, and Henri for the life of him can't decide what he thought of it.

He wants it to be about him. It's a tiny bit hard to be in love and not want that.

Christ, he's known he loves Adam since  _ yesterday _ , and just like that, the floodgates open and it's literally impossible to think about anything else.

Which is inconvenient, since he could sure use a good twenty minutes of analyzing his current position in life and deciding what to do.

He’s normally good at multitasking-- he has to be, in his lines of work. Remember the steps while hitting the notes. Keep an eye on the man in the corner while you entertain his friends. Listen for passersby while you kiss someone for all you’re worth.

Things never capture his whole mind, but Adam does. But Henri won’t ever tell him that; disregarding the dangers and the potential loss of a bond that means just about everything to him, it would give Adam an ego boost he truly doesn’t need. He rubs at his temples, and Adam raises an eyebrow.

“You alright up there?”

“I am fine,” Henri says, trying for light and breezy, and Adam shakes his head. “No, I am!”

“You’re what?” Jerry says, and it speaks volumes to Henri’s current state that he didn’t even notice him there. He snatches the music out of Henri’s hands, poring over it for a moment. “Goddamn, Hochberg, who’s this about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Adam grumbles, and Jerry laughs.

“Yeah, I would.”

It seems remarkably easy to be Jerry Mulligan. He’s been in Paris for roughly three minutes, and he’s already telling them about all the successful, fantastic women falling over him.

Henri’s been in Paris his entire life, and he has a lifetime of shame and hiding, a dead lover, and a hopeless interest in the one person he needs in his life. It’s irritating, to say the least.

Jerry and Adam get around to asking Henri about Lise, and oh yes, one more thing he has to show for his time. An engagement that will never amount to anything except two wasted lives, and likely multiple affairs on both ends. Fantastic.

Still, he fakes happiness, and Adam, who hates happiness, fake or otherwise, jumps at the chance to poke holes in it.

“Life and art are connected! Yours are both…” he waves his hands around, “bullshit!”

“What is wrong with wanting to be hopeful and in love?”

He knows, of course, but it’s a serious question.

Adam looks like he’s agonized by Henri trying to be vaguely happy, and truly, he didn’t know until now how easy it is to both love someone and want to punch them in the nose.

They argue for a while longer, because it’s comfortable, and because they’ve tread over the what-you-did-in-the-war territory so many times that in no longer scares Henri to approach it. Jerry stops them, because he clearly still isn’t used to the Drunken Afternoons With Hochberg and Baurel Show. He still thinks they can be easily offended by each other’s words-- the two of them know that it’d probably have to be the equivalent of a knife to the chest for anyone to pause.

But something does glance a blow, in Jerry’s words, not Adam’s.

“Why did you say that?” Henri asks. Jerry’s brow furrows, so he elaborates. “Girls.”

In Henri’s nightmare, Jerry promptly informs the cafe, and the entire world, that he’s known all along. In Henri’s reality, Jerry just looks at him like he’s lost every last one of his marbles.

“He knows we’re not really girls, Henri,” Adam says, staring directly into his drink, looking exhausted. “Let’s agree on the basics.”

He tells them what happened, of course, because it’s less suspicious when you tell the truth. He tries to make it sound ridiculous, like his mother’s gone off the deep end and is grasping at straws as to why life is the way it is.

And then Jerry and Adam are silent, and Henri feels his neck go cold, because he might have just given them an excuse to ruin him.

“You don’t think that, do you?”

Jerry looks like he would prefer to melt into the floor rather than be having this conversation, but Adam’s face is completely unreadable.

“I wouldn’t let it sway my feelings about you one bit,” Adam says, and goddammit, Henri doesn’t know what that means. “I would tell anyone who asks--” he leans forward to fix Henri’s bow tie, and Henri swats his hands away-- “that you are one of the most superficial, asinine people I’ve ever met!”

Whether or not the insults are commonplace for them, Henri’s still a little bit tired of being told how much Adam hates him, so he thrusts his letter over, trying to put some sort of end to it.

“I was about to hand it to her when she beat me to the pinch!”

“Punch,” Adam says, and Henri can feel himself bristling, so he purses his lips while Jerry reads.

“ _ Cher mama _ ,” Jerry says, and Henri feels a sense of dread settling into his bones. He keeps reading, and Henri snatches it away, looking at the neat print that is so clearly Lise’s.

“I took her notebook,” he says, not sure who he’s defending himself against.

_ But is this romantic love… _

He doesn’t see Jerry and Adam’s faces, and as he reads aloud, the air becomes stifling and tense.

“Everybody wonders that kind of stuff before they get married,” Jerry tries, and Henri turns around, sees Adam nodding like either of them know what it’s like to get married. He looks back at the letter, and Jerry tries again.

“Maybe she isn’t good enough for you, Henri,” he says, and god, Jerry Mulligan can’t learn a lesson if it smacks him in the face.  
“She is the only girl for me,” Henri says, trying to convince himself of the fact as much as anyone else. “You don’t know her.”

(Jerry has an  _ heiress,  _ after all, who adores him, and all Henri has is what is certain to be a lifetime of regret with someone who’s writing letters to her dead mother about how marrying Henri is going to be a mistake. Oh, and, of course, the entirely hopeless need to have Adam near him at all times. He can’t forget that extra dusting of hopeless sugar on top.)

Adam shoos Jerry away, and Henri stares at the letter, praying for some grain of hope to tell him that he isn’t condemning Lise to the same fate as him.

“Listen,” Adam says, “just… forget about her.”

God, Henri hates how gentle he sounds. He hates how he can so easily morph those words in Adam’s voice into something whispered to him late at night, begging him to not marry Lise.

If he had anything to keep, maybe he could actually say no to it. Maybe it’d give him the courage to give Lise what she needed to begin her career and bid her on her way.

But he doesn’t have anything to keep, which essentially means he has nothing to lose, and those words are reserved for when Adam’s just trying to make Henri a somewhat useful stage partner.

“She is not the kind of woman you forget,” Henri says, and that’s true if nothing else is. Lise Dassin, whether or not you want to marry her, is impossible to forget about. “She is an enigma.”

“Yeah,” Adam says after a moment of silence. “Sounds like a skin condition.” Henri sets down the letter, trying to organize his thoughts.

Lise doesn’t love him. He doesn’t love Lise.

He loves Adam. Adam loves some random, unnamed, wonderful woman.

Fantastic.

Adam keeps talking, and Henri only half registers it until Adam comes back over to shake at his shoulders, pat at his cheek, try and get him back to default Henri settings.

Henri thinks, in the back of his mind, that it’s got to be just Adam trying to return them to the way they always are. Adam hates change, always has. Of course he’d hate Henri taking his place as the resident miserable artist.

But still, he can’t help but smile a little at him, because god, he loves every petty, ridiculous inch of him. He picks up the letter again, simply to remind himself of his priorities, and out of some dark, cruel corner of his mind, he keeps reading. He knows it's private, he knows that Lise deserves her own way to grieve, but he still wants-- needs-- to know what’s going on inside her head.

“Wait!” He holds a hand up, and Adam stops in his tracks.

“I suppose love grows,” he reads, and hits the paper a few times for emphasis. “It does. It will!”

It’s a goddamn lie, of course, but it feels nice to say.

“You were saying?” he says, and then fills it in for himself. He feels his gears clicking back into place, reminding himself of the Henri Baurel who’s chipper and bright and wants to be in the world he’s in. He asks for mayonnaise with the fries, he remembers how to speak a mile a minute.

“Yes, ketchup!” Adam calls, and fake-barfs, just to prove to Henri what an incredibly terrible idea he considers anything but tomato mush.

Then they argue about ketchup for fifteen minutes, and  _ this  _ is the normal that Adam scratches and claws to get back to. It’s the normal that, despite his insistence that he can handle change, Henri loves all the same.

The ball goes terribly, as predicted. Terribly awful or terribly well is debatable based on which end you’re on, he supposes.

Lise is being distant and he has the world’s worst hangover, so it’s terribly awful for him.

But Jerry kissed his heiress, and more than a few men raised an eyebrow and smiled at Henri that night, so there are a few bright spots in life.

And luckily enough, Adam is there to mock him for his pain.

“I am dying,” Henri says as soon as he walks into the cafe, and Adam doesn’t even look up from his music.

“Oh, no. Want me to play at the funeral?”

Henri pulls a chair over and sits so that he can lay his head on the piano. “Yes, please.”

Adam finally looks up, his lips curling up in a smile. “Your paganistic revelry not go well?”

“I may never drink again.”

“You say that every time you get drunk at a fancy party,” Adam points out, and Henri waves his hand at him.

“I do mean it, this time.”

“Sure, pal.”

Then, thirty minutes later, Adam asks, “Champagne?”

Henri bites at the inside of his cheek, then sighs. “Yes.”

Adam snorts, pours the drinks, and they get to work.

Work, of course, is arguing until Jerry shows up, then making fun of Jerry for apparently being jilted.

It’s a good day, until he comes home, and Lise leaves the room as soon as he walks in, and his mother looks at him like she might shove a knife into his foot.

He loves his family, truly.

Speaking of parties that go horribly, Lise’s introduction as principal makes Henri want to find and hurt whoever conspired to ruin the one day she was supposed to have as her own.

He’d probably have to punch himself in the nose first, but such is life.

It takes him a few hours to even get around to feeling sorry for himself, what with all the being angry. He keeps coming back, over and over, to how unfair it is. She deserves so many good things, with all that she has suffered, but he saw the look on her face when his parents announced the engagement. It was a look of distinct heartbreak, and he sees it every time he blinks.

He thinks about all the things he’ll say to her, about not wanting her to feel obligated, about wanting her to follow her heart.

Then, he looks out the window and sees her pressed close to Jerry, tears in her eyes, telling her that of course she loves him, but she has duties, she has  _ responsibilities.  _

They’re the picture of romantic heroism, out of all the old stories-- star-crossed lovers, hero and heroine who must go through so much to finally be together.

He wonders if that makes him the villain.

He drags a tired hand down his face, watching the whole thing take place. He’s not angry-- if he were, he really would be the villain, wouldn’t he? He can’t love Lise like he should, no matter how hard he tries, and then to turn around and feel like she needs to love him back would just… it would be cruel. It wouldn’t be fair.

It’s still uncomfortable to watch, though. He’s held out hope that maybe, maybe, Lise will at least be happy. That she’ll grow to love him, and that she’ll eventually love the life they will have to have together.

Watching her with Jerry, he knows he’s quite literally ruining her life. She loves a man, and said man loves her back, and because of all of their stupid debts and Henri being too much of a coward to give up his parents’ love, she’s never going to have all the things that go with love.

She’ll never be able to marry him, to hold hands with him in the street, to argue with him over baby names.

He’s always understood his inability to have that with someone he loved, but Lise? God, Lise deserves all of that. She deserves the entire world, and because life is so  _ unfair,  _ she isn’t going to get it.

Lise runs away from Jerry, and that settles it-- Henri’s definitely the one in the story that gets punished at the end for their evil acts.

Only a few minutes later, she walks back towards him, looking visibly shaken up. He leans down to kiss her quickly, seeing his mother’s eyes on them.

He squeezes her hand. “Are you alright?”

“Of course, yes. Just tired,” she says, smiling like it hurt.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

She looks at him like he’s holding a loaded gun, and after a moment of tense silence, she shakes her head, mute.

“You are sure?”

“Chéri,” Lise says, mustering up a smile that looks just a little more real, “I am happy.”

God, the lies they tell each other just to keep the other sane. They’ll go over them, someday, he’s sure, and either laugh or cry until their stomachs hurt.

They kiss, again, and they go off in their opposite directions to mingle.

Henri dances with Milo, and immediately, he knows they’re reading each other like open books. She talks about wondering if people really care, and he agrees, and they keep dancing, going on for a few songs like that.

He wonders if, if he were marrying her, they would lie to each other the way he and Lise do. He doubts it-- Milo seems like the kind of person who lives candidly, who tells the truth as soon as she recognizes it.

Or maybe she’s just an excellent actor. Maybe they’re a pair of well-practiced fakes, the two of them.

She walks over to Jerry, and he remembers that he’s not the only outsider with stake in the whole Jerry and Lise debacle. They laugh, and they leave, and then Henri feels a hand touch the small of his back for a moment. He turns, and there’s Adam.

“Hey,” Adam says, and then he frowns. “You don’t look great.”

“I am wonderful,” Henri insists. “I am engaged!”

Adam sighs, his eyebrows furrowing. “Something happened.”

Henri stays silent, which Adam obviously takes as a confirmation. “Come over tonight,” he offers. “Get away from this crowd.”

He tilts his head towards clusters of extravagantly dressed art patrons, and Henri knows that it only spells out trouble, but Adam could ask him to go anywhere and he’d do it gladly.

“Thank you,” he says, and Adam just waves a hand.

“I’m just trying to keep you alive, pal. Let me get my music.”

No one notices as they leave-- Henri sees Adam checking over his shoulder to where Henri’s parents have their backs turned, showing off Lise to some old friends. Henri’s brow furrows, and when they’re out of the house, he asks, “Why did you check? For my parents?”

Adam’s eyes are fixed on the street as he hails a cab. “Figured they probably wanna parade you around some more. Escape’s gotta be coordinated, right?”

Henri smiles for a while before he realizes Adam isn’t looking. “Thank you,” he says eventually, as Adam’s opening the door of the taxi.

Adam just shrugs, and they wait until the door of the cafe is safely locked behind them to speak. Adam leads him up the stairs, telling some absentminded story about the people who rent him the apartment, and he swings the door open with a little flourish.

“Behold.” Adam takes his coat off and hangs it over the back of his chair. “It’s not much.”

“It is lovely,” Henri insists, and Adam rolls his eyes. “Besides, once you’re in the movies, it will not matter.”

Adam sits down, raising one eyebrow in his wonderfully skeptical way. “Just me?”

Henri shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. “I will be far too busy with the stage.”

“Alright, you egomaniac.” Adam laughs, and Henri smiles.

He isn’t sure what to do-- whether he should sit, stand, leave before he does anything he shouldn’t. Adam keeps talking, so Henri stays where he is.

“You do get that nothing’s guaranteed, right?”

Henri opens his mouth a little, trying to figure out how on earth to articulate it, how to say that he can’t have Adam, or a happy marriage, or a life in Paris, or a good relationship with his parents, so he might as well have his stupid dream.

“I just… would rather be hopeful than sad.”

Adam makes a frustrated noise, and Henri sighs. “Let’s not do this tonight, please.”

“I just don’t get how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Be hopeful! When you and Lise--” he cuts off, rubbing the knuckle of his thumb in a circle against his temple. “You two, I…”

“Adam,” Henri says, and he isn’t sure what he means by it. Is it a question, a warning, a plea? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t, he doesn’t.

“And they just fucking…” Adam waves one hand around for a while, his movements violent and sharp. “And I’m…” He fades off, pressing his lips together.

It’s unlike him, to be unsure. If Adam Hochberg is anything, he is purposeful.

They’re both entirely still for a moment, and then Adam exhales slowly and takes a few sheets from his folder, holding them out for Henri to take.

He reads all the words carefully, wondering if he’ll find a simple “I’m mad at Henri because…”

Instead, he finds other things.

_ What a lovely world this world could be, with a world of love in store for you, for me/but I guess he’s not for me. _

Henri stares at the pages for a while, trying to make sense of the different webs and strings between attraction and words and desire and love and friendship and duty and love, love, love.

Adam finally breaks the silence.

“I don’t want you to marry her.”

Henri looks up at him, at his tie, hanging loosely around his neck. He’s stood up somewhere in this process, looking at Henri like he’s something terrifying and fantastic.

He clears his throat, feeling like he hasn’t spoken in years. “You do not love her, do you?”

Adam shakes his head, and when Henri’s silent a little longer, he says, “No. Never.”

“Good.”

He must’ve been closer than Henri realized, because he can’t even register Adam moving forward before there’s a hand behind his neck and he’s being pulled down and kissed like no one’s ever kissed him.

(He’s kissed men before, he’s even loved them before, but in this moment, it all feels like training just so that he won’t spontaneously combust as soon as Adam touches him.)

Sheet music scatters to the floor, and Adam makes a soft noise when Henri’s hands fall to his waist.

Henri spent so long on stupid, meaningless self-sabotage in order to  _ not  _ get here. He spent so long worrying, thinking about Lise and all the difficulties and all the issues and what would happen to him if he got his heart broken again.

He doesn’t care. Adam starts tugging his suit jacket off, and Henri couldn't care  _ less  _ about his parents.

Who could possibly care about the repercussions when you get everything you’ve ever wanted?

Adam isn’t everything he wants, of course. There’s art, and freedom, and normalcy, but… well, that’s all Adam, in a way, so maybe Adam  _ is  _ everything. Henri would be alright with that.

When he wakes up, Adam’s sitting back at the table, tapping his good foot. The tiny slits of morning sun through the closed blinds cast light across his face, and he’s breathtaking. Henri props himself up on his elbows, and only then does Adam notice him.

His mouth twists into a nervous smile, setting his pencil on the table. “Morning.”

“Good morning. You look pretty.”

Adam glances down at himself, and Henri’s smile broadens when Adam rolls his eyes.

“Flattery will get you anywhere.”

“Can it get you back here?”

He laughs when Adam makes a flustered little noise, staring at Henri in disbelief for a moment. “You’re ridiculous,” he says finally, a little accusing.

“Should I get dressed, then?”

“God, no.”

A while later, Adam’s playing with Henri’s hair, trying to get his curls to stick in place, and Henri's considering falling back asleep despite having woken up not too long ago.

Then, Adam's hands still, and Henri turns his head a little to look at him.

"Milo knows."

Henri feels his breath still in his chest. "Oh."

"She, uh. I told her to stop by this morning, unlock for the waitresses, in case I didn't get home."

Adam looks at the ceiling. "I didn't think she'd come up here. I didn't think, I guess. In general."

Henri remains silent, and Adam tries to fill the chasm between them. "She won't tell anyone. She said so. And it’s not like there’re laws--"

"She knows my  _ parents _ , Adam."

"I know."

They're quiet a while longer, and Adam's fingers start combing through Henri's hair again.

"I meant everything," Henri says, praying that his words won't fall flat in midair.

Adam sighs, and it tickles Henri's cheek. "Yeah," he says, softly, "me too."

Milo expects one of them to show up sooner or later, and sure enough, Adam’s wringing his hands when she steps out of her room to greet him.

“Don’t say anything,” he blurts immediately, and she stops in her tracks. Both of them are still for a moment before she heads over to pour herself a drink.

He’s silent as she works, and she finally turns around and takes a sip.

“I’m not going to tell.”

His shoulders fall as he exhales, but his fingers still twitch a little bit, stray nerves escaping bit by bit. “I, well…”

“You clearly don’t love Lise,” she says, trying to show him that there’s not much he can say that will rock her world at the moment.

“I do love her,” he says, more regretful than defensive. “Not in love. But I love her.”

“And you  _ are _ in love with Henri.”

He looks down, and she sighs.

“Adam, I’m very hard to lie to, and you aren’t good at lying to begin with.” She shrugs when he looks surprised. “I told myself lies about you for your own good, and only I can fool myself.”

“Maybe for your own good, too?”

He’s touched on something dangerous, but she just tips her head to the side, desperate to avoid looking affected. “Perhaps. As I said, I won’t say a word. Is that all?”

Adam goes back to wringing his hands, and she laughs. “I hardly thought so.”

A flash of annoyance crosses over his face, and Milo can feel herself getting a little bit closer to meeting the real Adam Hochberg.

“Listen, if you could quit being above it all for half a second, that’d be swell.”

She spreads her arms out for him to continue, and his scowl just deepens. “Some of us are fucking humans, y’know. Not all-knowing gods, so if you’d take pity on the mortals--”

“When did I ever claim to be all-knowing?”

“Maybe when you said the only lies you believe are the ones you tell yourself?”

“That means I grew up in a perpetually artificial world, nothing else.”

“See, who the hell talks like that?”

“Adam, I know you’re scared.”

"Shut up," he growls, and she does, sipping her drink and trying to steady her hands. He stews for a while, and she waits for him to speak.

If money is time, then she’s certainly able to wait.

Finally, “I love him.”

She sets her empty glass down and takes a seat, waiting for him to join her on her little couch. “And does he love you?”

He stares at the ceiling. “I think. It felt like he loves me.” God, if Milo doesn’t know how that feels.

“And he’s supposed to love Lise.” Adam nods, silently, and she exhales slowly, too tired to get a smoke but still wanting one. “That’s quite the mess you’re in.”

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.” They both laugh at that, an odd mixture of being too tired to cry and too tired to keep talking at the same time.

“What are you going to do?”

He looks over at her, seeming so many years older than he actually is. Fighting has aged all of them, she supposes, whether there was a war going on or not. Maybe there’s always been a war, maybe it’s never ended.

“I don’t know,” he says, and neither does she.

She considers going to talk to Henri. Adam has clearly tried to reassure him, but maybe hearing the promise of silence from her own mouth might help. Beyond that, too, she just wants to speak with him again. It’s true, what she said-- they’re cut from the same cloth. Silk, maybe. Expensive, admired, easy to stain.

She wants to see his and Adam’s whole story through Henri’s eyes. She wants to know what it’s like to have everything, even for such a short period of time. She wants to convince him not to give up on Adam. She wants to find out if Henri really does love him.

She wants, she wants, she wants, but still, she does nothing.

Milo feels like she spends a large part of her life observing the happenings of others’ lives.

As she sits on the stage and watches as Jerry and Adam and Henri’s lives crumble, she allows her mind to wander. First she tries to think of other things-- about the woman whos sculptures she might want to feature in her gallery, about her sister, who still has yet to respond to Milo’s letters, and why would she?

Sooner or later, her thoughts wander back to the scene occurring in front of her.

Lise has gone off with the Baurels, and Milo feels a sick, burning anger build up in her stomach as Jerry and Henri yell at each other about her and who she should be with. As if any of them deserve her. As if anyone ever could.

Henri punches Jerry in the face, which is a turn of events that she… isn’t mad about.

He keeps talking. It’s very dramatic and sad for the two of them, she supposes. She just stares at Adam’s face as Henri says, “She is the one I devote my life to!”

It crumbles, just a little. None of them know whether it’s the truth.

Really, what does something like that lead to? If Lise marries Henri, then Adam is, at best, kept around under the guise of friendship, and Lise and Henri have separate bedrooms because Henri’s finally decided to be honest with her. At worst, for Adam, at least, he is abandoned. If Lise marries Jerry, then Henri’s at risk of losing his family’s support, and then there’s the stress of being a normal person, with the subsequent lack of money. So maybe they scrimp and save and fight to have a secure life, hiding all the way. Maybe Adam isn’t left behind. Or maybe Henri moves on when he realizes that the life Adam leads isn’t quaint.

Maybe the sun explodes and swallows them all up in a big, firey rush. Maybe that’s the best case scenario for all of them-- just getting it the fuck over with.

They’re still arguing. Of course they’re still arguing.

And it turns out Henri doesn’t even need to share some of the secrets he’s been so clearly hiding-- Adam does it for him.

For the first time, the words themselves mean something to her, and she feels the gears click into place in her chest.

A lot of things about Lise are suddenly crystal clear-- why she must love Jerry so dearly, why she refuses to be bought, why she flinches and jumps, why she and Henri are bound together in such dreadful ways.

The fact of the matter is that, to match their engagement rings, there are two lives, lost, that hold Henri and Lise together.

She thinks of all the promises the two of them must have made. To themselves, to each other, to the people around them. All the bullshit about keeping the other safe and making their parents proud and doing the right thing and shutting their mouths.

When Adam finishes, having taken a few seconds that seem like lifetimes, Henri turns, and his voice is soft when he says, “Adam…”

The look in his eyes is entirely too private, even if it lies right there, for the whole world to see. Milo looks away.

Henri’s got a lot of secrets. Scars, both mental and physical, that he hasn’t really shown anyone except a few resistance doctors yet. The whole  _ thing  _ with Adam, the nature of his relationship with Lise, his musical pursuits… those are all things that he benefits from keeping close to his chest.

When Adam reveals the truth of his past with Lise, it’s like being on an operation table. Theoretically, he is still sentient, but who has the control?

(It’s a truly odd feeling, because if anyone but Adam had that control, Henri would be breaking to the ground.)

Lise returns, and Henri leaves with her. He can’t stay near her and Adam at the same time-- it’s too much of a brutal mix of being desperately in love and desperate to not have to love.

That night is… difficult.

He and Lise are silent in the car, and she squeezes his hand, not even looking at him, before she heads to bed.

He walks around the house for a while, hoping for anyone to be awake. His parents are already gone, though, and the maid scatters when she sees him, so he goes to bed.

He doesn't sleep for hours, just stares at the ceiling. His mother's words play through his mind.

_ "I just want everything to stop changing… You understand?" _

He always understands.

He always just fucking rolls over and lets everyone beat the shit out of him and steal his dreams and ruin Lise's life and make Adam drink until he can't feel anymore. And yes, his parents are claiming that things will get better, but what absolute bullshit is it, that he’s got to  _ understand  _ why he’s so hard to love and support?

He always understands, just because he wants other people to be happy.

_ He  _ wants to be happy. God, he wants to make one selfish decision and be able to live with that. He’s done his fucking time. He deserves one night, one night, one night--

Before he knows it, he’s at Adam’s door, slamming it with an open palm.

He’s dreadfully aware of what a mess he is-- he’s only got his pants and a shirt, and the shirt isn’t even tucked in. His hair’s unstyled, and he’s probably got bags under his eyes, and all in all, it’s hardly the romantic, devil-may-care attitude he wishes he could have.

The blinds are closed, he notices absentmindedly.

He’s about to knock again before Adam opens the door, blinking at Henri with tired eyes. His eyebrows furrow a little when he recognizes him.

“You okay?”

“I…”

That’s all Henri manages before he pushes his way inside, slamming the door behind him and dragging Adam up to him.

Adam gasps against Henri’s lips, pressing his hands into Henri’s back to hold him tightly. They stumble across the room together until they’re nearly at the stairs, and Adam pulls away, keeping them apart with a firm hand.

“What…” Adam tries. “What are you… What’s wrong?”

Henri wants, so badly, for Adam to free of all of the burdens and weights, but, “So much,” he murmurs, letting the words fall into the abyss between them. “So much, but not you.  _ Never  _ you.”

“I don’t know how to help you.”

The words wrap themselves into a rope and tie themselves around Henri’s throat in less than a second. And then, he cuts them off himself.

“Do you love me?”

Adam stares at him. “I… I, yeah, I mean, shit--” he lets out a deep breath. “Fuck, Henri, of course.” He smiles weakly. “I was made to love you, I think.”

That just about breaks Henri’s heart in two.

(What the hell did he deserve to have a man say something like that to him?)

“I…” He swallows hard, and Adam makes a soft, concerned noise before he reaches up to brush away Henri’s tears. “I was made to run the company. And to marry Lise. And to be a good son.” Adam’s eyebrows furrow, and Henri shakes his head a little. “But all I have wanted to do is to love you.”

Adam chokes out something awfully close to a sob and pulls Henri into a kiss. It’s messy, and they’re both very obviously in tears, and Henri Baurel is so, so in love.

Later that night, they’re lying in Adam’s bed, and Adam presses a kiss to Henri’s shoulder. “Mind if I write?” he asks quietly, and Henri shakes his head, watching out of the corner of his eye as Adam walks to the table and comes back with a stack of music.

Adam scribbles on his paper frantically, tapping out rhythms, and eventually holds a sheet out to Henri. “Sing that, will you?”

Henri frowns at the notes for a half second, thinking them through, and then sings each one, just loud enough for Adam to hear. Adam blinks, then nods. “Okay. Okay, that’s good.”

They go on like that for hours, Henri singing out parts while Adam adds everything behind them. Sometimes Adam will sigh and scratch things out, and sometimes, he’ll beam and kiss Henri firmly before he scrawls out more notes.

Finally, he crams everything in his folder and drops it onto the floor, where it falls onto his discarded shirt. He rolls back over to face Henri, yawning. “Sorry.”

“You look handsome when you write,” Henri says, and Adam ducks his head.

“I look sleep deprived and anxious.” He smiles nonetheless, and presses a kiss to the crook of Henri’s neck. “Thanks for helping. The notes, they make more sense when you sing them.” There’s a moment of silence, and Adam rushes to fill it. “But that’s dumb. I’m blabbering. Your voice isn’t magic or anything, I just wanted to… God, I mean--”

“Adam,” Henri says, and Adam closes his mouth sheepishly. “I was happy to kelp.”

“Help. Kelp’s the stuff in the ocean.”

“They sound the same.”

“I know. English is garbage.”

“What if I fixed your French every time, hmm?”

“You got better things to do, I’m sure.”

Adam wraps one arm around Henri, pressing his lips to Henri’s collarbone. They stay quiet for a while, reveling in peace, and Henri speaks first.

“What are we going to do?”

Adam’s words come out muffled against Henri’s skin. “I dunno.”

“I would let them go. I would if you asked,  _ mon cher.” _

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“ _ Please  _ ask me. Please, Adam.”

“They’re your family, Henri. They’re letting you pursue your dreams. That’s too good to give up.”

“You’re too good.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Adam sighs, and Henri kisses his temple. He hums contentedly. “What about Lise?”

Henri purses his lips. “I do not know what she wants.”

“She wants to be happy.”

He laughs, and it scrapes against his throat. “I do not know how to be happy. How can I make her happy?” Adam’s lips curve downwards, and Henri lets the words spill out. “You are everything happy. You, and music.”

“Love and art,” Adam says softly. “What’s that for her?” Henri blinks. “Come on, what’s her art?”

“Dance?”

“Yeah, and who does she love?”

Henri shrugs, and Adam shrugs back and says, “Then let her find out for herself. At least give her the freedom to find out.”

“You think I should break the engagement.” Adam nods. “But what about money? And a home? Who will--”

“She’s tough. She’ll figure it out.”

Henri squeezes the hand Adam offers. “Protecting her was the one thing I thought I knew,” he confesses.

“You did a good job, but she’s got it now.” Henri sighs, and Adam shushes him. “She got herself the ballet all on her own. She got Jerry fawning over her without you. She’s gonna be fine.” He skims his fingertips over Henri’s shoulder and brings his hand up to cup his face. “This’ll make you both happy.”

Henri huffs out a sigh. “My parents… won’t take it kindly.”

“Is it still worth it, though?”

“Yes.” Then, again, surer, “Yes.”

“Okay then.” Adam kisses Henri’s knuckles. “You want me to talk to her?”

“You may if you’d like to.”

“I would like to,” Adam says, mimicking Henri’s voice, and he laughs when Henri wrinkles his nose at him.

“That is not my voice!”

“Should I have been an actor? I should’ve been an actor.”

“I should’ve been an actor,” Henri repeats, and Adam guffaws.

“Not bad!”

Henri smiles despite himself, and Adam kisses him. “Don’t go home yet?” he asks, and Henri nods. Adam exhales, his grin one of relief. “Be here when I wake up?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

Milo is almost dismayed when Jerry hands her his sketches for Lise. It’s typical, really, that he’d come up with something perfect enough to leave her unnoticed. She gives them to Lise, setting the flowers she’s brought in a vase while Lise looks at them.

She looks over Lise’s shoulder, and there she is-- caught in motion, in the middle of a laugh. Her nose is scrunched up, her eyes crinkle at the corners, and she looks giddy. Like the young woman she is, not anything less or more. She might as well have been drawn with love rather than pencil.

The fucking bouquet cost more money than flowers should be allowed to cost, but it feels remarkably inadequete. Which, maybe, is the closest thing Milo has to proof that she can buy attention, certainly, but not love. Lise is the exception from the former because she only ever gives the two out as a package.

“You know,” Milo says, when the silence becomes too much, “Jerry was never serious about me.” Lise looks towards her, questions written all over her face. “And he taught me something I didn’t know! Something true, which isn’t something I hear all too often.”

Lise folds her hands in her lap, looking like she’s ready to hear the truth of the universe. Milo, once again, feels underwhelming.

“Money can’t buy love.”

Lise turns away sharply, and Milo feels herself falter.

“Love is… love is given.”

Jerry has given Lise his love, and Henri has tried his damn hardest to, and Adam has given his love to so many people so many times over that he might not have any more left to give.

Lise has given her love to all of them, in a way. It’s like she’s got an everlasting dispensary.

And Milo… well. Milo hasn’t got much left to give, but maybe this time, she’s going to give it to the right person.

Lise goes back to staring at her, and Milo tries to crack a joke, tries to walk away with her hands clean, as if Lise’s eyes can’t just about see everything.

Lise catches her before she leaves. “It’s going to be a fiasco!” she blurts, and Milo stops.

“Well, it’s good to be nervous.”

“It’s not nerves,” Lise says. “I don’t feel any freedom onstage. No passion.”

And those are the two things she has been most deprived of, aren’t they? (And the two things Milo has in spades.)

“I’ve only felt that once in my life, and I… I can’t find it.”

Milo steps forward and takes Lise’s hands, struck for a moment by just how short Lise is. She brushes the thought away. “You think of when you felt it then, and you will dance like the star you truly are.”

It’s sappy, sugar-sweet goodness that could hurt your teeth. Which is what Lise deserves after so much hardship, so it all comes out fair.

She kisses Lise on both cheeks, and leaves before anything else comes along to turn the world in a way that it shouldn’t.

When the ballet is finished, she cheers louder than everyone around her, and earns a few disapproving glances from those around her. She catches Henri’s eye, and he smiles at her, brushing away a tear before his mother sees it.

She toasts the Baurels. It seems like the right thing to do.

Henri watches the celebration occur around him.

Adam is talking with a young woman at the piano, Lise is laughing with some of the ensemble dancers, Jerry is downing a glass of liquid courage as fast as can be considered polite.

Milo walks up to him, handing him a drink.

“I never want this night to end,” she says, smiling brightly. “But you seem--”

“No! No, I am thrilled.”

Milo hums. “Having a change of heart, or a change of mind?”

“Perhaps finally.”

“Those are difficult.”

“I just don’t know how. How to do it.”

“But I think you do.” She raises her glass and taps it against his. “Call me in the morning, won’t you?”

He nods, and she walks away just as Lise walks towards him.

She takes his hand, and he asks, “Can we take a drive?”

Something in her eyes change, and she nods slowly before she turns towards the piano. His eyes follow hers, then flicker back to her.

“Just a moment?” she requests. “And then I’ll get dressed.”

He lets her go, and watches as she walks towards Adam.

They talk, for a while. She hands him a rose, he kisses her on the cheek, and then they part.

Henri takes Lise’s arm, and they walk off the stage.

At a certain point, Henri parks the car, and they sit together in silence.

Eventually, Henri asks, “What did Adam say?”

Lise smiles a little, folding her hands in her lap. “I thanked him, and he thanked me. And then he told me I’d be making a mistake, marrying you.”

“I see.”

She nods to herself. “He told me that true love is most important, even if I haven’t found it yet. I told him that I think I have, and then asked him if he was speaking from experience.” She turns her head a little, so she can look at him. “He said that he was.”

Henri isn’t sure what to say to that, so he stays silent.

Lise speaks for him. “You don’t have to marry me.”

He tugs uncertainly at the cuff of his sleeve. “I don’t?”

“No. See?”

He turns to face her, and sees her holding out her ring.

“Tell your parents that I am sorry, but I simply need to be with someone else.”

He laughs, and he isn’t sure whether it’s disbelieving or giddy. “Poor me, left behind by my fiance.”

Lise beams. “No one would blame you if you needed a friend in New York. In fact, I heard some saying that they are excited for Monsieur Hochberg’s American debut.”

“Imagine that,” Henri says, and Lise looks at him for a moment before she leans forward to hug him tightly.

“You are a wonderful man, Henri Baurel.”

“You are a wonderful woman, Lise Dassin.”

They smile at each other, and Henri knows full well that they’ll have to talk more about this whole business, but he’s just too happy to insist on deliberating about the details.

After a moment, Lise frowns. “I probably shouldn’t go back to the mansion.”

“You could.”

“No, I shouldn’t.” She pauses. “Would you take me to the Seine?” He raises one eyebrow at her, and she flushes. “Well?”

“I would be happy to.”

Three months later, Henri Baurel and Adam Hochberg are long gone.

With the ballet finished, Milo practically can’t blink before they’re off to America, with only mild resistance from the Baurels.

Milo has made her stay in Paris an indefinite one. She’s moved out of the Ritz and into a penthouse apartment that Lise and Jerry mock mercilessly.

Seven months after the opening, Lise visits in the middle of the day.

“You know that Jerry and I were engaged last week,” she says, pacing around the room.

Milo tilts her head. She’s sitting on the couch, seeming far more relaxed than she actually is. “Yes?”

“And I… well, that is to say… we will not have many guests.”

Milo bites back a joke about the two of them not knowing many people to invite.

“And we would like you to be there. As my maid of honor.”

Lise stares at Milo, and Milo realizes that she’s done talking.

“I’d be happy to.”

The tension drains out of Lise’s body, and she smiles widely. “Excellent. Good.”

“Do you want help with dresses, or…”

“Oh, yes, please.”

Milo ends up paying for the dress, because she’s an idiot, and she doesn’t know what’s good for her, and she says it’ll be her wedding present.

The problem is that she can’t buy love, but Lise deserves every nice thing, so Milo buys them for her.

She’s in love with Lise. That’s something she’s figured out.

It was a gradual realization, the moment that she recognized that maybe she wants Lise near her every day for a certain reason.

So yes, she loves Lise. She’s content with that, and she’s fine with the fact that she might never be loved back the way she’d like to be. Such is life, no?

Jerry is a proponent of drawing from life, so sometimes, Milo comes over just to be there and Jerry will draw her. She’s looking at a book full of photographs Henri has sent Lise, and Jerry clears his throat. She looks up, and he turns his sketchbook around.

He always draws her prettier than she actually is.

“Gorgeous, as always,” she says, and he rolls his eyes before he closes the book.

“I want to talk real quick.”

She leans back and sets down the book. “Alright, then talk.”

“Lise and I had a chat last night.”

He stops talking, and she frowns. “Nearly a year of marriage now, Jerry, that’s to be expected.”

“No, it was… about something.”

“Also to be expected?” Jerry groans, swiping a hand through his hair.

“No, Milo, I-- Lise loves you.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _

“Oh.”

“We discussed it, and I’m okay with it if you two want…” he trails off. “You know.”

She stares at him, flipping the words over in her head and trying to understand them. “How very American of you.”

Jerry laughs, nervous. “I thought so. Do you…”

“Yes. Yes, I love her.”

He nods for a while. “Cool. Sorry, I’m… I’ve obviously never done this.”

“I didn’t know you were… fine with…”

“Ah. Yeah, you know. I love Lise. I'm just glad I've got her in any kinda way. And besides, men are… nice.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Nice?” Jerry nods. “Have you…”

He coughs. “Adam. Once.” Her surprise must be evident on her face, because he laughs. “A few days after I met him. Not a great match.”

“Evidently.”

“But I love Lise. Always gonna. And I think I’m not gonna love anyone else, but if she loves you…” He shrugs one shoulder. “I just want her to be happy. To be clear, though, I don’t want in on it.”

The words of other men ring through her ears, and she can’t help but smile.

“You’re a good man.”

“I try,” he jokes.

“You succeed.”

She doesn’t trust most men, but three make the list.

“I think I want to write a musical,” Adam says, and Milo leans back in her chair.

“Good for you, I suppose.” She isn’t surprised-- Henri’s always loved them, so it was only a matter of time until Adam caught the bug.

She’s in New York on business, but she stopped by Adam and Henri’s apartment for pleasure.

“About us,” Adam adds, and that sparks Milo’s attention. She rolls her hand for him to continue, and he does. “Some parts would be… edited, of course. But the intersection. Paris. The ballet. All that, I want to write about it.”

All of Adam’s works are based in truth, and some are personal, if you look close enough.

(There’s still a draft hidden, somewhere, of a ballet he wrote for two men. The choreographer he met with liked the music, but reeled at its intent. Milo knows Adam still has it hidden somewhere.)

But there’s never been a direct autobiography before. Milo’s intrigued, but also a little frightened by it.

“Have you asked Henri?”

“Oh, he’s all for it, as long as the Henri character gets a solo.”

“How are you going to deal with…” Milo reaches forward and taps the silver band on Adam’s right ring finger, “that?”

Adam sighs. “Subtext. People who need to get it’ll get it. Text, of course, says I’m in love with Lise.” He cracks his neck and winces. “I wanted to ask you, actually, how you want me to handle your whole deal.”

Milo fiddles with the ring on her own finger. “Both of us after Jerry, Jerry loves Lise. That’s simplest.”

He rubs the corners of his eyes. “You want me to hint some?”

“I don’t know how you would.”

“I’ll make it work.” He leans back in his chair. “It’s gonna be fuckin’ rough. Just… cutting up my life and putting it all on a table for everyone to choose what they want.”

“You could write another version, just for you.”

He snorts. “The Unauthorized Adam Hochberg Story. I might. Or just write a bunch of new love songs for Henri.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Yeah, yeah. You wanna stick around for dinner? He should be back soon.”

She smiles. “Why not?”

“Well, we’re both shitty cooks, so that’s one reason.”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He reaches forward for a sheet of paper and scribbles a note on it while he keeps talking. “Hey, when you--”

“Milo!” she hears through the door, and it swings open to reveal Henri Baurel in all his dramatic glory. He sweeps her up in a hug, and she’s struck by just how much this man seems comfortable being alive. “I came home as soon as Adam said you’d arrived.” He scans her quickly. “Lord, you look lovely.”

“Well, at least one out of the two of you notices!” She kisses him on both cheeks.

He grins. “Like you said-- cut from the same, expensive bit of cloth.”

She tilts her head back, thinking for a moment about this man, who now smiles without regard and doesn’t hold back any ounce of exuberance. 

Thinking for a moment about herself, who can now bear to not be loved and who feels, sometimes, safe to love herself.

Same bit of cloth, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so!!!!! just a few notes. jerry and lise are an iconic bi/bi couple. henri's gay. adam i see as gay in this but i left it vague bc i don't think he really took the time to figure it out. milo is specifically vague here because i don't really think that based on her resources at the time and past experiences with men she really ever figured out whether or not she actually liked men??? i think at a certain point she just decides that she loves lise and she's ok with just knowing that  
umm yeah. i have dedicated far too much time to this fic but whatever its fine.  
my tumblr is @penzyroamin if u wanna chat or mayhaps rb the cool moodboard i made for this fic... please help me get new readers  
anyways ily and i love these dumb gay idiots.


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